


Dozed

by yeaka



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25704301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: “You’ll never have a deeper sleep than curled up in a Wookie’s lap.”
Relationships: Chewbacca/Han Solo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	Dozed

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Special thanks to Gia_Sesshoumaru for the beta job!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Wars or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

After about the twentieth lap around the self-cesspool that is his quarters, Han gives up on pacing, instead wandering out into the hall and staring blankly down the twisted corridor—it’s only marginally less upsetting than lying on his lumpy mattress and eyeing up the ceiling. He’s so exhausted he can barely stand, but sleep still eludes him—all the aches and sores of the mission slither under his skin and keep prickling him back to consciousness. He rubs his hands over his eyes and takes a deep breath, telling himself that when he opens them again, he’ll yawn and wane. Instead, he’s just as dead tired but painfully awake as he was before. 

A dozen telltale remedies from a dozen different planets run through his head. Then the recounted words from a traitor he once knew whisper through his mind: _I heard the deepest sleep you’ll ever have is curled up in a Wookie’s lap._

At the time, Han snorted. But he was younger then, with less scrapes and bruises, and in the moment, he’ll try anything. He’s marching down the hall in a heartbeat, winding into the communal space, not surprised to find Chewbacca by the dejarik table. It’s not turned on, and he’s leaning back against the curved cushions like he’s tired too, but he wasn’t put through the ringer nearly as much as Han was this time. He doesn’t have a bruise the size of a saucer all down his back. Or maybe he does, somewhere under all that fur. 

Chewbacca opens his mouth, growling out a surprised hello that Han doesn’t return—he groans instead, “’Too tired to talk.” Chewbacca doesn’t have time to argue. Suddenly, Han’s across the room, climbing onto the couch, curling in on himself as close to his friend as he can get. 

He drops his head onto Chewbacca’s thigh and snuggles into the warmth that waits there—softer and more inviting than he’d expected. Of course he’s _touched_ Chewbacca before, maybe even stroked a bit, but never fully run his fingers through and appreciated just how pleasant that fur really is. It cushions his cheek like a particularly plush pillow. His arm drapes over Chewbacca’s leg, knees brushing Chewbacca’s side. Chewbacca mumbles something Han barely hears. 

He’s already losing it. He means to look up and explain himself, but his eyes are half-lidded and heavy. All that comes out of his mouth is a languid yawn. Chewbacca shakes his head and rumbles out a sigh. 

His massive hand lands on Han’s forehead, delicately scratching back through his hair. A small part of Han finds it ironic to have _Chewbacca_ petting _him_ , but the rest of him is too relaxed to properly process it. Process anything. He hums something disturbingly like a purr and lets his eyes close. 

He’s asleep in seconds—the good, strong, completely-lost-in-vivid dreams kind of sleep, _only_ good dreams, and even in that deliciously unconscious state, his subconscious knows he needs to thank Chewbacca in the morning.


End file.
